


Home

by Hinny_B



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Della's POV on things, Don’t copy to another site, Family Feels, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-04-05 05:36:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19042192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinny_B/pseuds/Hinny_B
Summary: Della Duck has returned home, but things aren't exactly how she worked them up in her mind to be. It's going to take time to readjust, time that she is ignoring and instead running full steam ahead trying to be the Moon's Best Mom.





	1. Return

She jumped at the gate, cursing Earth's gravity as she slid back down. Nothing would get in her way. Not space, not moon mites, not the crushingly lonely years as she toiled to rebuild her ship, not the gate, and certainly not this frustratingly long driveway. Nothing can stop Della Duck!

Except…

Standing at the door, hand raised to knock, she hesitated. Ten years. She'd been gone for ten years and that was a lot of time, especially to three children. How was she to introduce herself? How was she going to tell them how deeply incredibly sorry she was for missing, well, everything? How was Uncle Scrooge or Donald going to react? Would they push her away? Would they yell, cry, curse? Or would they just hug her. A hug, Della hoped. She really wanted a hug and to hug her family in return.

“Okay, first impression is the only impression. You've got to nail this,” she said, turning away from the door. Her mind quickly jumped to the most heartwarming greeting she could imagine. One that'd played out in childrens' tv shows and movies she'd seen as a child. With eyes wide and sparkling, she practiced, striking what she hoped was a coy, yet endearing pose. She spoke in the most softly warbled, hopeful, tempered enthusiastic, motherly voice she could. “Greetings, children!”

Yeah, no, that was wrong. Too saccharine and insincere. She tried again. A simple hello wasn't good enough, so she tried again. By the sixth and seventh tries she'd stooped to re-enacting scenes from movies she partially remembered and probably confused with each other. Sneaking out from behind a plant and pretending not to have noticed her family when she was the one who'd knocked was just ludicrous. She wasn't some bumbling lovesick protagonist trying to woo their lady or lad love. Although, if she had a grappling hook, she could swing in all swashbuckler style and… no. This was getting her nowhere. 

Della sighed, cleared her mind and thought about what type of greeting she'd want from her own mother if she were able to come back. What would she want Hortense to say to her after all these years? Hello? I missed you? I've thought about you every day and I'm so so sorry I ever left. Yes, that was the one. Simple, yet sincere.

She reached for the door once more, hand hovering over the dark stained wood. It shook. She shook. 

Okay, one more practice run, just to get the nerves out.

With a slight strained laugh, she counted to five in her head, and thought of her favorite song. She could almost hear it and in a little bit she bet she really would. If Scrooge hadn't gotten rid of her CD collection, she'd share it with her boys. They'd rock out, she'd show them her dance moves, and they'd have a wild party celebrating here return. Buoyed up by sudden giddy excitement, she crossed her arms, struck a confident pose, and excitedly exclaimed.

“What's up party people? I'm back in the hiz-ou-ohhhh...” 

Five ducks stared at her as she suddenly realized the door was open and they were there and what she'd said and, oh, no.

“-Oh no. No, it was wrong as soon as I said it,” she said, crumbling before them. 

Covering her face, she wished time to rewind at least ten seconds. She looked up, sweeping her gaze across all five faces. “Sorry, that was terrible. Can I get a do-over?”

Scrooge was the first to break rank. The artifact he'd been holding falling to the ground, shattering. He didn't notice as she waved a shy hello and called to him. He stepped forward, sweeping her up in his arms. A hug, a hug she was hoping for. Although not THE hug she wanted the most, but a hug she wanted and cherished none-the-less. There were questions and accusations. She'd been expecting them, but his admittance to having searched the moon caused a spark of anger. She hurled the words at him that he hadn't searched hard enough and he bristled. For a moment they stood, squared off against each other, two bullheaded ducks both holding on to righteous anger. The next it was gone, flowing away like grim off the sidewalks after a heavy rain, leaving her happy and relieved that there was no true animosity from him.

Then she walked inside to meet her children.

They huddled behind the girl duckling. She wondered briefly if she was Donald's daughter, but that was a question for later. Her heart clenched, an ache she'd felt so many times before when she thought of her boys, but now they were right there. Della swallowed or tried, her throat constricting with emotion. Her boys were right there. She didn't even notice her knees giving until she felt the jolt from them hitting the floor. Heavens, they looked scared, unsure, but they were right there. Tears pricked her eyes, quickly filling them until they spilled over and down her face. Distantly she heard Scrooge introduce her.

The one dressed in blue jumped out first, excitedly yelling about being part robot. She held back a chuckle as he bolted forward, running headlong into her. Then he was there in her arms. Oh heavens! Her baby boy was in her arms. In. Her. Arms. She tried to keep from trembling, from choking on the sobs that threatened to burst from her throat. She could touch him, hold him, he was real. He was right there in front of her. All these years imagining what her babies would like, and she finally knew. The smile that turned the corners of her bill and crinkled her eyes was short lived as Scrooge's introduction finally made it past the dreamy haze of adoration she felt for her children. Had Scrooge just called her babies Huey, Dewey, and Louie? 

“No, no. Their names were supposed to be Jet, Turbo, and Rebel,” she insisted. She'd written them down for Donald in case no one understood him, which few besides her could. How had they gotten such normal sounding names? Oh, wait, she knew. Donald. He hadn't been overly excited about her choices to begin with. She'd be having words with him when he poked his head out from where ever he was to greet her. No matter, Turbo sounded like he would be keen on changing out his boring name for the one she'd picked.

A moment later Jet introduced himself to her by rattling off a list of questions in quick fire succession and it took her a moment to wrap her head around them. Oh, but he was her kid, she could tell. The need to know, to ask and question everything. And he was a Junior Woodchuck on top of it! At least Donald had gotten them into the JW, she'd have to thank him later. Jet's eyes lit up when she fired answers right back at him and suddenly she had two boys in her arms. Two precious baby boys. Her heart beat fast in her chest and she squeezed them tight. Now all she needed was Rebel, who was living up to his name.

“Nope. I'm not buying,” he said. “It has to be a trick or curse from Magica, or parallel universe, or, or-”

Della understood, she wouldn't have believed it either if she'd been in his place. If Hortense had walked through the door to McDuck Manor years after her death, she'd have questioned it. She'd probably gone for a sword or crossbow too, but deep down she'd have hoped it were really her. She hoped Rebel thought the same. That her uncle and his brothers accepting her would assuage his doubts. 

Gently she let go of Jet and Turbo and stood. Silently she approached the sniffling, confused child. Her son. 

No more tears, she promised herself. There would be no more tears over her now that she was home.

She held out her hand and, with a small smile, knelt down in front of him.

“Mom,” he breathed, embracing her as she did the same.

She felt the other two come up on either side of them and she included them in the hug. THE hug she'd been waiting ten years for.


	2. Not What I Imagined

In hindsight, baking three cakes, one flan and topping one of said cakes with candy that had been banned for nearly a decade was not as glorious a first step into motherhood as she'd hoped. Jet, or rather Huey, as he reminded her twice during her kitchen takeover, voiced his reservations at sugar before bedtime. Still, he'd willingly tried a taste of her 'Happy International Talk Like A Pirate Arrghbor Day' cake, to her delight. Turbo, whom his brothers insisted was Dewey, despite his protests that Turbo was way cooler, dug into the 'Congratulations-Birthday-Valentine' cake immediately. He even laughed at her Della-cacy joke! Of the three, he was certainly the most daring, making her heart swell with pride. She couldn't wait to go on adventures with them!

But as wonderful as the high had been, the crashing nosedive it took after his consumption of her Fizzy Rocks cake was enough to make her wonder if she was really ready for motherhood. One moment he was eagerly asking her to watch him shift into turbo, the next he was toppled over on the floor spewing blue foam everywhere. Della winced, a tight smile combined with growing concern plastered on her beak. This was going so well, right? The kids liked their cakes, but perhaps she should've waited until tomorrow to make them.

Jet, er Huey, laughed, his movements manic as he kicked and threw the foam about. Turbo, though, lay on the floor still puking it everywhere. Della let out a strained chuckle, realization dawning on her that she probably needed to intervene before her son choked on his own vomit. She remained rooted though, her own memories of spewing Fizzy Rock foam all over the place, but being fine warring with the sight in front of her. Rebel wisely got out of the way of his brothers, scuttling out of the room. Probably to get Scrooge.

This wasn't like dealing with moon mites.

Turbo hiccuped, moaning and rolling to his side. Webby, who was not Donald's daughter, but Agent 22's granddaughter, leaped down from her chair at the table and slipped over to Turbo.

“Mom, I don't feel so well,” Turbo groaned.

“It looks like you're almost done throwing up,” Webby said, placing a hand on his shoulder and holding him so he wouldn't roll back. “Best you stay like this, you don't want to inhale any of this.”

Della bit her bottom beak. Hesitation wasn't something she did. To hesitate might mean death, and right now her son needed her!

Rounding the table, she got down next to him, placing one hand on his back and rubbing in soothing circles.

“She's right, you don't want to inhale or swallow this. Keep on your side and hey, if you need to throw up, go ahead and blow chunks!” she said.

“Thanks Mom,” he replied.

While she rubbed and Webby held him, Jet-Huey giggled, running around the table only to slide through it, nearly crashing into the trio on the ground. After what seemed like hours, Rebel returned with Agent 22 and a large glass of water. The former SHUSH agent took one look at the situation then gave Della a critical look, one that bore through her and made her insides crumble to chalk dust. 

“Maybe sugar before bedtime wasn't a good idea,” Della said, watching Rebel catch Jet-Huey and force the glass into his hand. 

“It does make it difficult for children to have a proper night's rest,” Agent 22 replied dryly. “Might I recommend taking Dewey upstairs. I would normally suggest he have an antacid tablet,” she paused looking down at the mass of blue foam Della, Turbo-Dewey, and Webby were in then back up, “but in this case it might aggravate his stomach more.”

“Right, bed it is then.” Della scooped Turbo-Dewey into her arms, her body straining slightly. This kid was heavier than she thought. “Ah...”

“Up the left stairs two floors, fourth door on the left.” 

“Thank you Agent 22.”

“Mrs. Beakley if you please. I'm retired from the service.”

Hefting Turbo-Dewey up the stairs proved more of a work out than she anticipated. _Dumb Earth gravity_ , she thought while counting the doors until she found the fourth one. Of course the door was shut, forcing her to get creative with her duckling filled arms to twist the knob and hip bump it open. Turbo-Dewey belched and whimpered, though he was proving to be a little trooper and stifling as much of his discomfort as he could. That didn't exactly warm her heart, instead it made her inwardly cringe every time he let out an errant groan. 

“It's going to be okay,” she said, panic leeching into her voice. No she wasn't panicking, she could handle this, she was his mother. This is what mothers did, put their sick children to bed. 

Turbo-Dewey moaned. “My insides are on fire-” His face suddenly scrunched up and he shifted, trying to pull himself upright in her arms. “-with love for my mom.”

He was trying to comfort her. Trying to reassure _her_. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. The realization only made her feel worse. There had to be something more she could do besides lay him on the bottom bunk. It came to her, a faint memory of her parents telling her and Donald stories when they weren't feeling well.

Behind her, she could hear the footsteps of the other two coming into the room. This was perfect! She could tell them all a story. Their first bedtime story together! A small bubble of excitement sprung up, ricocheting off the walls of her stomach as she suggested one her favorites from when she was young. Only to have it burst, releasing sour disappointment and regret to coat her insides by Rebel's blasé response.

She should've known they were too old for 'The Princess and the Peacock'. Donald probably had told them dozens of fairy tales when they were babies. 

“You're never too old for a fairy tale,” Jet-Huey said hastily, covering for his brother's blunder. Once again her children were trying to make _her_ feel better. That wasn't what they were supposed to do!

Della took a deep breath and shook her head. They were ten, plenty old enough for a real story, one that wasn't fiction.

“No, Rebel, hmm, Louie is right. You're all grown up now. You're ready for a real-life grown up story,” she said with a wink. “Starring yours truly!”

“Yeah!” the boys cheered. Jet-Huey and Rebel-Louie joined Turbo-Dewey on the bed. Their eyes eager and shining. This was it! This was her chance to right the wrongs of the cake fiasco.

Pulling a chair from their desk, she spun it around so the back faced them and sat down. Her prosthetic leg squeaked as she straddled the seat and sat facing them; a look of mischief on her face. She was going to give them the best grown up story they'd ever heard.

It took but a moment to settle on the one she wanted to tell. A tale of cunning, daring-do, with the threat of imminent peril around every turn. It was time to recall her triumph over the Gilded Man. She began weaving the tale, setting the stage for her victory by recalling the horrors of the Aztec Android's bloody genocide of the city of El Dorado. The boys stared, enraptured by her telling as she snatched up a robot toy of theirs, using it as a prop to illustrate her defeat of the monstrous mechanical murderer. 

By the end they were so entranced they couldn't speak. She'd done it! She'd told her first bedtime story and it was a good one! Bidding them good night, she breezed out of the room, confident that she'd finally done something right by her boys. 

“Della,” Scrooge said, catching her as she returned downstairs to the dining room. Mrs. Beakley and Webby were nowhere to be seen, but the mess was all cleaned up. His hand rested on her arm, not pulling or squeezing, but gentle and firm. “Is Dewey all right?”

“Yep! I told Turbo, I mean Dewey, and the other two a bedtime story. They loved it!”

Scrooge smiled. “That's good ta hear lass. When Beakley told me about dessert, I was a wee bit concerned.”

“I may have misjudged the amount of sugar they could handle and how was I to know they'd banned Fizzy Rocks?”

He nodded. “I'm not sure where you dredged those up from.”

“Secret Stash,” she replied.

“Of course.” He let his hand fall away, chuckling softly. “Of course. I've had Duckworth dust out yer room. I didna move a thing, but I havena opened it in a long time...” He ducked his head away from her for a moment.

“It's all right. I'm back Uncle Scrooge and I'm never leaving this family again. I promise you that. You and Donald have done so much to keep it together. I'm sorry you had too. The boys are my responsibility, not yours.”

“Ah, about that lass,” he said, then thought better of it. “Let's go ta my study.”

She followed him, worried and a bit confused by his somber tone. When they entered, he shut the door behind them and offered her the large comfortable chair by the fireplace. Scrooge stood in front of the flagstone looking like a nervous school boy caught by his teacher without his finished homework. She waited for him to gather his thoughts.

“Afta you disappeared,” he began, leaning on his cane. “Donald, he, ah, he was very angry. He had every right, we thought I'd killed you.”

Della nearly jumped out of the chair. “But you didn't! **I** took the rocket. **I** left without telling anyone, only leaving a note. I was-”

Scrooge held up his hand. “I know lass, but at the time, this is what we thought. Though not initially. Ah, Della, I sent ship after ship lookin' fer you, nearly drained me Money Bin. But it wasna enough. I was so focused on tryin' ta get you back that I left Donald alone with the boys.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“That day, the day you disappeared, he took the boys and went ta stay with his friends.”

“José and Panchito?”

Her uncle nodded.

“Those two talked him into juggling my eggs two weeks after I laid them!”

Scrooge grimaced. “I know. But that's where he went for all of a week. We argued over the phone several times before...” he cleared his throat twice, his eyes looking everywhere but her face. 

“Before?”

“Before we stopped talking. He up and disappeared too. I was so focused on bringing you home that I let them slip away ta live on that ol' houseboat he'd been fixing up before ya left. Before I realized it, seven, eight months had passed, yer eggs had hatched and I not heard hide nor hair from him. We hadn't spoken until last summer.”

This wasn't true. This couldn't be true. Donald loved Scrooge. They both did. Why would he abandon his uncle, take her children, and hide away from all the opportunities Scrooge's lifestyle afforded? What about the mysteries? The adventures? The bonds forged through near death experiences? It was how she and Donald had been raised after their parents' deaths. She'd expected them to carry on in her absence.

She must've had a frightened look on her face because Scrooge hurried to her side. 

“It's not yer fault. McDuck stubbornness over who was right and who was wrong is ta blame. Yer brother, though he enjoyed our adventures, wasna always eager to go on them. He's got more yer grandma Duck's sense of home comforts than our wanderin' ways. Louie's a bit like that too. The point is what happened between us isna yer fault. It's ours.”

“But it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't taken the Spear!” Della snapped, shock slowly draining from her, replaced by twisting guilt. “I was so stupid. I just wanted one more adventure out there before I had the big one here.”

He smiled, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “It is a big adventure too. Raising three children. Donald's been on this adventure alone fer far too long. Those early years, neither of us are getting them back, but we're here now. I donna know how he did it, but he raised three good kids.”

She didn't know how he did it either, but she would have to thank him when he got home.

“We're joining his adventure fer once,” Scrooge said, quietly. “Instead o' him joining ours.”

“I won't let him or them down,” she replied.

Scrooge nodded.

“Neither will I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we have head canon time my friends. I don't think, given who Donald and Scrooge both are, that they'd sever all bond immediately. I theorize both of them wanted the other to apologize thinking the other was at fault or over reacting to Della's disappearance. But Scrooge is Scrooge and Della would be his focus believing by bringing her back alive he'd absolve himself of any wrong doing in Donald's and the boy's eyes, (instead of going to talk to your angry nephew). Meanwhile, Donald would feel he was in the right all along. His sister hadn't listened to his warnings, Scrooge didn't listen to him or brushed off his concerns and now look what happened? To him he was owed a huge "I'm sorry". More than likely there has been, and the show hints at it, a history of both Della and Scrooge brushing Donald's concerns or wants aside for their own. To him the farther away from selfish people the boys are, the better. So, both ducks sat for ten years waiting for the other to make the first move towards an apology, gnawing on old and new hurts until they were entrenched. Only the act of three adventure seeking children forced them to see each other again.


	3. Reflections

Her room was just as she'd remembered. The bed was in the same spot against the wall, her nightstand next to it with the dresser across the room. Her draft table, the one she'd spent hours at creating the blue prints for the Spear of Selene was still pulled halfway to the center of the room, its desk lamp clamped to the side. She'd wanted the natural light and to be able to look out at the moon and stars at night while she worked. Now, she walked right past it to the window and gazed up briefly; a pang of sadness over the new friends she'd left behind. It hadn't been her intention, but things didn't always work out how she wanted them to. With an inward sigh and a wish for good fortune to Penumbra and the other Lunarians, she drew the heavy curtains closed over the window.

After Scrooge's truth bomb about his and Donald's relationship, she needed time to think about her next steps. She hoped familiar surroundings would ease her mind.

This evening had been a success in that she'd made it home, got to meet her boys, and had started bonding with them. Though there was at least one failure; the cakes and Turbo-Dewey's stomach issues resulting from them. Hopefully, that would clear up by morning and they could continue learning more about each other. She had so much to teach them! Since they were newer to adventuring than she'd originally thought, she wouldn't be going over things they knew already. Mostly. Scrooge had obviously taught them some things and Donald had certainly covered the more mundane aspects to life. She briefly wondered if they'd been home-schooled or went to public school. It didn't matter right now, it was summer!

Duckworth had done an immaculate job of removing dust and changing out the sheets and blankets on her bed. They smelled newly laundered and for a moment, she simply buried her bill into them, curling up like a duckling. She was home, really home.

A cough alerted her that she wasn't alone. Her heart slammed into her sternum and she rolled off the bed, grabbing the pillow as she did and hurling it with all her strength in the direction of the noise. Breathing heavily, she snarled, eyes darting for something to wield as a weapon.

“I am sorry to disturb you Miss Della, but you did not answer my knocking, so I entered to make certain you were all right,” Duckworth said, his nearly transparent body floating a good two feet off the floor.

She swallowed. “Y-yeah, I'm fine. I was drifting off. You know, I traveled all the way from the moon today.”

“Indeed,” he replied. “May I suggest a warm bath before you retire for the night?”

A bath sounded heavenly. She quickly agreed and the ghostly butler disappeared through the wall, giving her the weirdest sense of both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Uncanny valley? Maybe, but not really. 

“Well, let's see if anything still fits,” she said to the empty room.

She tore into her closet and drawers, finding and trying on clothes quickly, just enough to assure her that yes, everything still fit. That was amazing, but considering she hadn't eaten anything in ten years except the gum, there was not reason for her to gain weight or lose weight either. With an armful of robe and pajamas, Della sauntered down the hall to the bathroom and a steaming warm bath. 

“Awww… Bubble bath,” she said upon seeing the tub piled high with frothy bubbles. “Duckworth, you old softie. You knew exactly what I wanted.”

Dropping her clothes on the floor, she made sure the door was closed before stripping out of her tattered aviator jacket and shirt. The blue-gray scarf she laid aside to hopefully be repaired. She had a few others, all gifts from Donald over various Christmas', and she treasured each one, but this one had been with her a long time. It'd reminded her of his love. Even when she was thousands of miles away on the moon, he'd still had her back, raising the boys. She detached her prosthesis, setting it on the floor, and sunk into the bath trying to shake her sudden melancholy mood. They'd said he'd be back in month, that he'd been so stressed he'd been molting. It wasn't fair. She'd caused him so much worry, placed him under so much pressure all because she'd wanted one last big adventure before she was grounded for a year or two.

How selfish she was.

Rubbing her eyes, she couldn't tell if it was the soap or her own thoughts making her tear up. Hastily she scooped up a big lot of bubbles and set them on her head, teasing them into horns or rabbit ears, take your pick. Next she carved a pirate cove from the remaining froth in the tub, using the bar of pine scented soap as an imaginary ship searching for buried treasure. It kept her distracted from her darker thoughts.

Eventually the bubbles all popped and her ship had returned to being a bar of soap forcing her to scrub herself down in the cool water. After washing and rinsing her hair in shampoo and conditioner, she finally declared herself clean and got out. Hopping to the closed toilet, sat, catching the ends of her long hair under her rump. Grimacing, she shifted enough to pull them out.

“Ouch. I'm going to need scissors; this hair's got to go.”

She dried herself thoroughly before reattaching her prosthesis and dressing.

When she returned to her room, she found a pair of scissors, a brush, and comb laying on her bed. _Duckworth_ , she mused before taking them and returning to the bathroom. 

“This is it. Hair! Time for you to meet your maker!” Which was silly because she was the hair's maker. Laughing at her own joke, she pulled it into a ponytail and prepared to snip it all off, leaving a bob like she'd had before. Before taking the Spear, before leaving her boys, her brother, and her uncle. Before…

Hesitating, she stared at her reflection and the long tresses her hand held. She wasn't the same person she was before. No one was.

She slid her hand back, letting some of the length go slack against her neck. Della couldn't go back, but she could go forward. 

With a chewing motion, the scissors mauled their way through her long thick hair, cutting away the oldest sections. The ones that'd been there when she'd made her fateful mistake. It was all going away, falling to the floor in white clumps to be swept up and thrown out. Her mistakes, she'd make it up to them, all of them. Her sons, her brother, her uncle. They would see how truly sorry she was for her selfishness. She'd throw herself into her role as mother, sister, and niece with all the energy she threw at adventuring. They would always be able to count on her. They'd never have to fear of her leaving again.

She let her hair fall, uneven and raggedy, past her shoulders. There, that was better. She looked like herself, but older, more mature. Like a mother should. It needed a little clean up work, but the length was good and Della felt better, ready to face her family.

“Okay Della, you've got this,” she said, giving her reflection with firm hard look. “You made a few mistakes today, but tomorrow is a new day. Make a plan. Start off small, don't get carried away. Try something easy, but fun, like hang gliding or learning lay traps for your enemy. And learn their names.”

The names would be hard, she'd spent so long calling them Jet, Turbo, and Rebel in her mind that it was hard to swallow they'd never gone by them. Those had been her names and Donald had ignored them. She knew his reasoning, but to not honor his sister's wishes stung, leaving a small bitter pill of betrayal for them to examine when he returned. No, she wouldn't focus on that. They wanted to be Huey, Dewey, and Louie, so that is what she would call them.

“It'll be okay,” she told her reflection. “It'll all work out. I know it will. Now, I wonder if Uncle Scrooge ever found my stash of air horns?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time around. The next one should be longer and the angst train will be continuing.


	4. Trying To Be A Mom

When Mrs. Beakley walked into the foyer, shield in hand, Della knew she was in trouble. Teaching the triplets to “shred the gnarl” on the banister had been her idea. It was supposed to show how cool a mom she was and had the added bonus of teaching them a useful skill in case they ever needed to surf an avalanche. Which she'd done before and lived, thank you. For a moment her sons had stood in solidarity with her, spreading the blame amongst the four of them. She was touched, proud even, that they'd do that for someone they'd met ten hours ago. Then the chandelier fell.

Della immediately offered to help clean up the mess, but the former SHUSH agent turned housekeeper simply picked it up, ordered her sons to their rooms then said the most damning thing Della had heard in years.

_“After all, I'm used to cleaning up after children, dear.”_

The insinuation was blatant and hurtful. Della was an adult. A _mother_. This stung, no, not just stung. Dripped rattlesnake venom into the open wound of her own guilt. Yes, she'd made a mistake, but she wasn't a child! Not even a teenager anymore! Besides she'd been trying to connect with her children for pity's sake! Why was wanting to play with and teach her sons wrong?

Before she started to sniffle, Della walked out of the manor and into the surrounding grounds. One of the swimming pools greeted her, as did the sight of the familiar houseboat floating in it. She headed for the gangplank wanting someplace to escape to before she broke down.

There were photographs hung up all over the walls. Many were candid, but some were obviously staged. Perfect Christmas greetings photographs of Donald and the triplets, sent to family over the years. It drove home how much her brother had done and how much she had to live up to.

She lingered, committing each photograph to memory. There were so many, each bringing a bittersweet smile to her face.

If only Donald were here. She really could use her twin's scolding, but caring words right now. His guidance. Oh, how she could use his guidance! Being a parent was a more difficult than she imagined, but she wasn't sure if it was her, the age of the boys or both. They weren't babies, but people with their own thoughts and wants. They were more Donald's boys than hers. That realization hurt worse than Beakley's dispassionate, resolute retort. 

Her hand lingered over a photograph of him flopped, exhausted, near passing out, on a familiar red chair with three eggs tucked underneath him. The chair was still in the mansion's living room, and though she didn't remember taking the shot, it struck her that Donald had been caring for her boys even before she left. 

Gods, she was selfish.

“You did a great job Donald, you earned that vacation,” she said, wishing she could apologize to him. To hug him and thank him for being the Earth's best brother. Maybe the Earth's best father? It's what he'd been to the triplets really. A tendril of sorrow wound around her heart, weaving itself into the knot of guilt she already bore. No, she wouldn't let it! She would-

“I'll take it from here. Me, and the boys, and Scrooge-”

Her eyes caught sight of a photo near the bottom, words dying on her bill. There was a duck. A duck posed in front of her plane. With Donald in the background. An unknown duck throwing a thumbs up. An unknown duck dressed in a pilot's jacket! Oh, heck no. They did not!

“Hey,” a friendly, unfamiliar male voice said from the entrance to the lower deck. “I thought I'd come over and introduce myself. I'm Launchpad. I'm a pilot.”

They did!

Oh no, no, no, no, no! And he was coming down and offering his hand to her. No!

Anger flared, grabbing her guilt and shoving it rudely aside. It slid through her veins, using her blood as its fuel source. Embarrassment and sorrow lit up and burned to ash as McDuck and Duck tempers boiled. She shoved past him, stormed up the stairs and up to the top deck. Stomping and seething at the injustice, she snarled out “how dare theys” and “I can't be replaceds” as she stalked down the halls looking for her uncle.

“I'm sorry Mr. McDuck, but I think Della is struggling to adjust to this new life.”

Della stopped short, backing up to the door she'd just passed. Glimpsing in through the partially open doorway, she hid enough of herself so they wouldn't see. Inside her uncle, her boys, Mrs. Beakley, and her granddaughter sat around a table, similar to the dining room table, only much shorter.

“Come now Beakley, she's only just arrived,” Scrooge said. 

It was a family meeting, one about her. She swallowed, the anger snuffing out in an instant. Della listened raptly as her family members spoke in turn. Turbo-Dewey and Huey insisted that though she had faults, no one was perfect and she was trying. They wouldn't give up on her. She smiled, relieved by their understanding. Then Rebel-Louie spoke, and the smile fell from her bill.

“...I've gone so long without one, that I really don't know how to have a mom.”

She was letting them down, she was-

“That's because she's _not_ a mom.”

The room went utterly silent at Scrooge's statement. All eyes looked to the duck leaning over the table, hands slammed down to emphasize his point.

Scrooge didn't think she was a mom. Her youngest blamed himself for not knowing how to have a mom. If the fact that she had screwed up so many lives by her mistakes wasn't evident before, it was clear as daylight now. Della turned and, with a lump rapidly forming in her throat and tears welling up, fled.

Scrubbing her eyes as she ran, Della didn't know where she would go. That pilot was probably still hanging about outside, so the houseboat and grounds were a no go. Her room felt suddenly suffocating and she was unsure where Mrs. Beakley and her granddaughter resided that she didn't dare go upstairs anyway. Wanting to avoid the others, she paused in one of the out of the way bathrooms to wash her face.

This was great. Just perfect. First Mrs. Beakley calls her a child, then she finds out she's been replaced, then her son doesn't know what to do with her, and finally Scrooge says she's not a mom. Did they even need her? Gah! This was confusing and stressful and she just wanted to be a good mom! If Donald could do it, why couldn't she?

Donald. Her guilt roared to life and she splashed water in her face again. This was getting her no where. Drying her eyes on a towel, she sighed heavily, setting it on the counter before leaving. 

“I was gone for a decade and everyone was fine. I'm home for ten hours and now my kids are all sick, injured, and terrified,” she said to herself, her feet taking her to the garage. It shouldn't have surprised her that's where she ended up. It held so many treasures from her, Scrooge, and Donald's adventures.

She stared at the large body of the Gilded Man, unsure how to move forward, if her family even wanted her to. It all felt so very raw, a never ending cycle of putting salve on a wound, beginning to heal only for it to reopen the next time she took a step. It made her wish for simpler times. Times when she knew what to do.

“I fought you Gilded Man! And moon mites, and the abyss of space, and every last odd to get back to my kids! And…I'm blowing it.”

She was, wasn't she? Argh! It made her so mad, and sad, so, mad-sad? She couldn't think of the word. Growling, she whirled on the silent mechanical cadaver and slammed her prosthesis into it. The kick reverberated, a ringing sound, like a gong, then a flash, red eyes opened and the corpse was dead no more.

“Ah phooey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a while to complete. The original version wasn't working, so I axed it and started over. Sometimes you just have to do that sort of thing in order to get the pacing right or keep focus on the important things.


	5. Learning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter. June was crazy busy for me. I'm still reeling a bit from everything. This might be a bit rougher of a chapter than my others, but I think I've caught all the spelling and grammar errors.

As Uncle Scrooge said, being a parent is about learning and adapting. Della was a quick learner, but it was baby steps. This life wasn't only hers anymore; she was sharing it with three smart, tough, and sharp boys. She'd been sharing it before, in a way, with Donald and Scrooge, but it wasn't quite the same. The triplets were a part of her. She'd given half her DNA in their creation and they'd be forever bound by that, but the physical aspect was only the first step. The foundation to start on. Now she shared a single emotional bond with them, a second step into the house of love and family they were construction. 

The Gilded Man had been defeated. Once she realized it hated noise, her kids had sprung into action. She knew those air horns would come in handy! One duct taped, triple threat, noise weapon and a last minute rescue of her youngest later and Della could only marvel at the resilience of her family. The kids hadn't panicked, they'd worked together even after she, Scrooge, and Webbigail were captured by the fiend. Nothing could stop her boys! She was so proud of them.

Her heart to heart with Scrooge while initially taking cover behind the giant Eldorado sun coin, helped her realize, afterward, she'd been pushing them all at a whirlwind pace. One didn't become a mom in a day. Well, you got called Mom the moment children are born, but it's not the same as being one. She hadn't been their from day one, but was here now and wanted that bond that all good mothers strove for with their children. Huey, Dewey, and Louie wanted to give her that chance, which she was grateful for. She wanted to give them a chance too. Although, being nearly killed by a vengeance seeking automaton together did help jump start a few things.

They would laugh about it later, give Donald a hard time for not being there for Della's first family monster take-down with her boys. They had seriously missed a photo opportunity. No, wait, Louie probably got a few shots with his phone if Dewey hadn't. She'd ask them about it in a bit.

“Hot chocolate?” Duckworth asked, a tray balanced on his ghostly hand.

Della looked around the dining room to see everyone else holding a steaming mug. Scrooge raised his to her in a small salute. She grinned.

“Why bother asking? You know my answer already.” She snagged the mug off the tray and went to take a quick sip, only to discover to her horror there were no marshmallows in it.

Her eyes narrowed, her gaze falling on the incorporeal dog. “Why are there no marshmallows in my hot chocolate?”

“Oh, we've banned marshmallows after Dewey's last stunt for his Dewey Dew-night web series,” Louie said causally. “It took us all afternoon to scrape the stuff off him from the ceiling. Mrs. B. wasn't pleased.”

“But it was epic!” Dewey insisted. “I have it all recorded. Ooo! Ooo! Would you like to see the set? We can go after we finish.” 

Della laughed. “I'd love to! I once duct taped Donald to the ceiling of his room when we were kids.”

“Maybe afterward, you'd like to take a look through my Junior Woodchuck scrapbook?” Huey said.

“Definitely.”

She smiled, this was nice. Hot chocolate in her hands, surrounded by family, feeling relieved, exhilarated and so much love. Swirling the mug, she watched the tiny bubbles form a vortex, nostalgia washing over her as the children chattered excitedly.

“But why do you have Excalibur to begin with?” Huey asked, directing his question at Scrooge. “You're Scottish!”

“Well, Scotland is currently part of the United Kingdom-”

“But it's supposed to go to the true king of England, not Scotland,” Huey insisted.

“And England can have it back when they give back our Stone of Scone,” Scrooge replied before taking a sip of hot chocolate. Mrs. Beakley sighed heavily, rolling her eyes as she did.

“But wasn't it returned back in the 90s?”

“It's a replica. Someone-” he glared at Beakley, “made the switch back in the 40s during the Blitz. Had to protect national treasures and, due to a clerical error-” Again he shot Beakley a glare. “It was misplaced in one of the walled up precursor to SHUSH hiding spots.”

“Some people have been attempting to locate it,” Mrs. Beakley said tersely.

“And when they find and return it proper, they'll get the sword and the stone back from me.”

Della nearly choked on her drink from the look on Mrs. Beakley's face. She vaguely remembered he Aunt Matilda regaling her and Donald with the story of how he'd slipped it out of England. Apparently their aunt hadn't been oh so innocent in smuggling it out. 

Sinking into the nearest chair, she leaned back and listened to the banter, for once not contributing, simply listening. Louie moved over to sit next to her. Smiling again, she tentatively reached out and ruffled his hair.

“Hey, Mom,” Louie said quietly after a while. 

“Yes?”

“Would it be all right if you told us something about your time on the moon? I mean, if it's too much, we'd understand.”

“No, I think it'd be good for me and for you if I do,” she said. Looking up, she noticed her words had halted the others' conversations. They all stared at her expectantly. “How about I start with how I survived the crash?”

“Sounds good,” Louie replied.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to dive a little more into Della's return to Earth since I saw the episode. It's taken a bit (and several rewatches) to figure out what I wanted to do. I'm not sure how many chapter this will be yet, but it'll mostly follow the episode "Nothing Can Stop Della Duck" strictly from Della's POV. I might delve into "Raider of the Doomsday Vault" a little too.


End file.
